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Several pairs of eyes blink up at Jude: the eyes of a traitor, a smattering amount of former falcons, and a knight she had begun to think of as family. In return, she glares icily down at them, her hands in fists in her lap, aware of all the weapons she carries on her person. With a quick movement, she could slit their throats, barely giving them a second to think. She has never expected mercy from the faeries, and that is the type of mortal queen that she has been forced to become. The creatures around her, no matter their title in the kingdom, are always scheming to remove her from the throne. She refuses to be merciful to the cruel Folk as a result.
Her newest arrivals crowd before her in the throne room, their respective knees on the hard ground, most of them looking apologetic, worried, and frightened. There is Tiernan, who looks the most concerned. If she peers closely, she’ll see the tremble to his lip, the quiver in his fingers. He bows his head the lowest. The former falcons, about a dozen of them, look up at her with half sneers. This, she expects. She’ll make them suffer some more, she decides.
And then there is Madoc, who looks at her with so much pride, it’s near blinding.
Pride, not because he’s made it back to Elfhame despite his exile, not because the one to bring him back was Jude’s dear brother who had sworn his allegiance to her, but because his daughter sat on the dais, a perfect mirror of himself. No doubt he received news of the kingdom during his exile, but seeing his daughter in the flesh and in good health with her husband still alive and the realm in peace brings a wicked glint to his eye. She’s survived, she shows him wordlessly. Just as she said she would many years ago.
Jude stares down at him, hatred in her dark eyes.
And despite the anger, why does she feel relief at the sight of him? Knowing he’s in one piece, though injured.
Jude also hadn’t been prepared for Oak’s lack of appearance. Cardan told her weeks ago that he suspected Oak found out about their conversation in their room, though he remained unsure whether it had happened through spies or other means, but the fact of the matter was that Oak knew what happened to his father and who was keeping him captive.
Jude may have been fooled, wanting to give her brother and benefit of the doubt, but Cardan, a master at putting on acts, knew.
Cardan kept an eye on Oak, reporting back any unusualities he discovered when there was talk about the throne, or Madoc in particular. Too many times had Cardan come to her at night to tell her Oak had stiffened at the reminder of his exiled father, or how his eyes had a shade of anger to them at the mention of Jude refusing to rescind the banishment. It had never struck with him that Oak wished to ascend to the throne early and remove his father from exile himself. It was clear to everyone that Oak wished to delay his rule as much as possible, citing multiple times that the current rulers were not going anywhere, were not dying any time soon, but just as his thoughts on monarchy were not well hidden, his thoughts on his father’s lengthy exile weren’t either.
And so before she announces judgment, Jude demands, “Where is Oak?”
At her frigid voice, the falcons look slightly nervous. Nobody speaks.
Jude, enraged, shouts, “If nobody answers me within the next two seconds, I will rip all your throats out with my bare fucking hands.”
Even Cardan lazily looks over at her from his seat beside her.
It’s Tiernan who says, “He’s at the Citadel,” in a shaky voice. “With the queen.”
Jude digs her fingernails into her palm. “Willingly?”
“No, she’s keeping him behind.” Tiernan looks terrified.
“What for?”
“I-I don’t know, my Queen.”
“What is she like now?” Jude barks. “Is she cruel? Is she upholding her alliance?”
“She…” Tiernan trails off, breathing harshly. “She is capricious.”
“Do you have reason to believe she’ll harm Oak?”
Tiernan hesitates and that’s all Jude needs to know. She tightens her fists, the usual comfort of her palms bleeding offering little help this time. She imagines her younger brother in chains, tortured, and in agony. She’ll kill that little queen and all her loyal servants. She’ll make them pay in blood.
Cardan says smoothly, “We’ll have to discuss in detail how we intend to reply to this supposed kidnapping of the heir. Guards, take the falcons to the dungeons for interrogation.” His eyes gleam. “And you,” he says to Madoc, “shall deal with the wrath of the High Queen.”
Madoc doesn’t look ruffled. He looks at Jude and bows his head mockingly. “Of course.”
But knowing Oak is in danger greatly worsens her rage at Madoc. After all, Oak’s being there is entirely because of Madoc. A stupid, brave reason for him to travel across waters and through mortal lands. If she kills Madoc, Oak will never forgive her, and all his work will have been for nothing. If she kills Madoc, she’ll never get a full understanding of Lady Nore, Suren, or those loyal to her. Against all reasoning, Jude needs Madoc alive.
But that doesn’t mean she’ll allow him to sit at her table, occupy the finest rooms, and sit with the council. He’s still to be punished.
Thinking of her brother is the only reason why Jude raises her hand and signals the guards to take Madoc to the dungeon as well. Cardan doesn’t argue with her, but he does raise his eyebrows to say they’ll discuss this later. Madoc doesn’t say anything as he’s dragged away.
Left in the throne room are Taryn, a handful of knights, guards, and the king and queen. Taryn looks like she wants to argue, but on Madoc's behalf or Jude’s it’s unsure. Jude recalls how her twin sister relied on her in their early years in Faerie, but also how she gained the likeness of their father quicker, with sweet words and obedience. Jude was the wild, unkempt child. Still, he is their father, and Jude exists as she does because of him.
Oriana has stayed in her room. She doesn’t want to be near Madoc at the moment. Nobody blames her.
“Dismissed,” Jude growls.
Her jaw is tight with anger, and when she stands to leave, Cardan does so as well.
They won’t be meeting in the war room just yet. For now, Jude storms to their bedroom. Cardan shuts the door behind them, sliding the lock into place.
In fury, she removes the daggers she holds in her collars and hurls them at the wall beside their bed. They land in a neat line of three, and a frustrated scream rips from Jude’s throat.
“If they hurt Oak,” she seethes, turning to face him, new daggers in hand, “I will burn the Citadel to the ground.”
Cardan is leaning against the door, arms crossed. He doesn’t look alarmed. “The chances of Suren killing Oak are low. She’s vowed to Elfhame.”
“That matters little when Nore’s prized prisoner is gone. And Mellith’s heart? What if Oak managed to find that too? What else has Oak been keeping from us?”
Cardan pushes himself off the door and nears her. “I don’t believe Oak is withholding any information from us to deliberately harm us.” He takes the knives from her, tossing them onto the bed. “He doesn’t want to be the heir, we know that. But he won’t do anything to end the monarchy either.”
“I’m no longer thinking he got caught up with the wrong people.”
“Your brother is very intelligent. He does not do things without knowing the consequences.”
“I think the opposite. Intelligent but reckless.” Jude looks up at him. “You think we should wait before we act.”
“Yes.”
“They could be torturing him.”
“They know the size of our army, of your wrath. They will not kill Oak.”
“I don’t want to wait. I want my brother home.”
Cardan’s eyes soften. He moves his hands up her wrists and elbows. They end up at her shoulders, squeezing. “I know. But let’s wait. See what Oak’s plan is. Wait to see if he contacts us.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then we send our army.”
“I like that idea more.”
“In the meantime, talk to Madoc.”
“I cannot,” Jude says. “I’ll kill him.”
“You won’t kill him. He’s your father.” He squeezes her shoulders again and then reaches for her chin, pulling her head up. His black eyes stare down at her with a loving intensity. “And even if you do,” he murmurs, “I’ll help you hide the body.”
Against everything, Jude’s traitorous lips raise into a smile. She bats his hands away and says softly, “Shut up.”
He smiles. “I will oversee the interrogations of the falcons. You take your time, but you’ll need to see to Madoc’s judgment yourself. And sooner rather than later for the sake of Oak.”
Jude says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re ordering me around.”
Cardan rests a hand on his heart. “I would never.”
She sighs and goes to grab the knives from their spot embedded in the wall. They’re tucked back into her collars, and the ones abandoned by Cardan on their bed back in her sleeves. She rolls her shoulders and takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself when Cardan pulls up to her with a wine glass, swirling it enticingly. Jude looks at it and then sighs again, deeply. She throws it back and then hands the glass back to him, swallowing with a wince.
“I’m ready,” she croaks.
“Out of curiosity,” Cardan says when she gets to the doors. “How many weapons do you carry on you at all times?”
Jude turns her head to give him a look over her shoulder. “How can I plan your assassination if I give you that answer?”
She closes the door on Cardan’s gleaming black eyes.
***
Madoc stays several cells away from the falcons just in case. Instead of going straight to him though, she stops by Tiernan. He’s sitting in his cell, huddling in a corner with his head on his knees. When she enters, he glances up, eyes wide with fright.
“My Queen.” He scrambles to stand up and bow.
Jude says, “I need honesty from you, Tiernan.”
“Of course.”
“I trusted you with Oak.”
“I—” he stops, looking conflicted. “I think I’ve done a good job of keeping the prince safe given the circumstances.”
“The circumstances?”
“Oak’s proclivity to refuse protection.”
Upon closer look, Jude sees just how tired Tiernan actually is. His eyes are red, bags underneath as if he hasn’t slept in days. But Tiernan has been training in survival, especially in the woods — so Jude knows the haggard appearance isn’t due to travel.
“Oak has driven you mad,” she says, shaking her head at herself. “I really thought he’d have better choices with such a company. Now I see Oak has been the ring leader all along.”
“The prince…” Tiernan tries again, “has the best intentions. But he’s nothing short of reckless, though he has a vague sense of plans.”
“A vague sense of plans is not nearly enough as the heir to Elfhame!”
Tiernan cowers. “You’re right, my Queen.”
Jude sighs deeply and rubs her temples, annoyed at the flashing aura behind her eyes signaling the beginnings of a terrible migraine. She crouches down in front of her prisoner, ducking her head wearily. Worrying about Oak for several weeks hasn’t built a tolerance at all.
She wonders how she’ll ever live with her own children worrying her for her entire life.
“Tell me honestly,” Jude says, lifting her head to look the knight in the eye. “Is he in danger?”
Tiernan bites the inside of his cheek in fear and contemplation. “Lady Wren is unpredictable, but she’s never sought to singularly harm Oak.”
“Then why does she keep him?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Did she order his surrender before you? In front of your very eyes?"
“Yes.”
“With malice?”
Tiernan pauses. “It seemed like they had an unspoken discussion between them when she told him to surrender. The prince agreed readily, but there was something else on his face. Guilt maybe. And also acceptance. As if he expected it.”
Jude wants to pull her hair out of frustration, but remembers that Cardan took time out of his own lavish routine to do her hair this morning. She balls her hands into fists and resists the urge, digging her nails into her existing wounds.
“I see.”
Jude continues to crouch there for several moments, imagining every single circumstance Oak could have found himself in at that very moment. Was he chained to the wall? Or was he treated as an elite prisoner? What he even considered a prisoner?
“You knew of Oak’s plan in detail?”
Tiernan nods. “Well, the details that he wanted to give us, yes.”
“Why didn’t you talk him out of it?”
Jude knows the answer, but she wants to shove her anger somewhere.
“He’s the prince,” Tiernan says, as expected. “And, forgive me, as long as we stuck to the original plan, I didn’t see any … er, danger.”
“Giving Mellith’s heart to Lady Nore wouldn’t prove dangerous?” Her voice is like venom.
“Oak was very confident about it. He spoke without lying of course. He said he had the heart. He said he was taking care of it.”
“Did he really have the heart?”
“I-I was forced to leave before I received the explanation.”
“Convenient. And why take the prisoner?”
Tiernan suddenly looks away, very interested in the dirty dungeon floor. “That was my doing.”
Jude waves a hand in the air. “Yes, yes, Cardan deduced that as much. He’s a lover of some kind for you. My question is why. What purpose did he serve?”
“He had little influence on our decisions.”
“Not what I asked.”
Jude lets the question rattle around the cell for a minute, marinating until Tiernan becomes ready to answer.
“Aside from my insistence,” he finally says quietly, “I believe Oak wanted to prove he could handle something as minor as a prisoner.” He risks a peek up at Jude. “He said you managed one just fine at his age.”
“My prisoner,” Jude repeats slowly. “You mean the High King.”
“Yes.”
“That is utterly fucking ridiculous.”
Tiernan winces. “I told him so. But Hyacinthe. He couldn’t do anything anyways on account of—”
“Yes, let’s speak on that. How did Oak get his hands on the bridle?”
“He went through your rooms.”
Jude sees red. The migraine flares. “I will murder him before that little queen makes a move.” She stands back up to her feet, taking a menacing step towards Tiernan. “And how was this farce of a quest meant to end? Is this the conclusion he wanted?”
The knight scoots back, fallen under Jude’s shadow. “I don’t know! The goal was to get Oak into the Citadel.” He winces when Jude takes another step. “Anything after that was up to him, but he swore he knew what he was doing! He swore it!”
Jude doesn’t realize she has a blade in her hand until Tiernan is holding his arms in front of his face in protection.
She forces herself to take a breath. Then she turns on her heels and swings the bars behind her. On the way to the level below, she passes a guard and orders him, “If he says anything more, alert me. If not, just let him sit there for tonight.”
***
To her surprise, three extra guards stand by Madoc’s holding cell, but when Jude tells them, “You need not worry about any danger. I am more than equipped to deal with him” they answer with a careful, “The High King has placed them here for the protection of the prisoner.”
Jude rolls her eyes at Cardan’s jab. She waves them away impatiently, draws several blades from her sleeves, and enters.
Madoc, well, has looked better. Currently, he stands against the furthest wall, a dark eye patch laid over his eye, likely given by one of the servants so as to mask the injury to his eye. He leans heavily on the bricked wall, and when she steps closer to him, he steps into the light of the dimly lit lantern as if to give her a better view of his injuries. The smile on his face, crazed and nostalgic, continues to remain on his face, even as his voice drops to softly say, “Daughter.”
At the word, however, Jude tightens her hands around the hilts of her daggers. The walls echo off the sound of her boots, but despite the sourness she’s brought into the dungeons, Madoc doesn’t look ruffled.
“Is this really how you intend to welcome me home?” Madoc says.
“I would like to do worse, but a few people have dissuaded me from doing so. They’ve been buttering me up since I got word you’d be arriving. Trying to persuade me not to put your head on a pike to set an example.”
“No doubt Taryn. Perhaps Oriana.”
“They sympathize.”
“Cardan too, yes?”
“It matters little.”
Madoc shrugs. “It matters very much. There I was in exile getting gossip fed to me about the dangers of the mortal queen. Of her hatred towards her husband and her aging sister. Imagine my surprise to find them all well and alive.”
So just as Jude expected. She almost laughs; she knows him too well.
“But,” her father continues, “my, have you grown.”
She stands a bit taller at the words despite herself. “What lies did you tell Oak?”
Madoc’s eyebrows raise. “Lies? What could I tell him? I never communicated with him directly.”
“Because of you , he is now with Queen Suren, likely being treated cruelly. All because he felt enough love for his father to get him back. Bring him to the feet of the mortal queen so that she could forgive him,” Jude spits, twirling one dagger as she steps closer. “Well, hear me, father. I will never forgive you. Not until the day I die.”
Madoc doesn’t look too ruffled by her threat, but when she mentions Oak, his eyebrow dips. “I did not write to Oak telling him to retrieve me.”
Anger surges through Jude like lightning. One moment she thinks she has control, and in the next, she’s hurling one dagger at her father’s head. He steps out of the way at the last moment, but she manages to nick his ear. Blood pours down his neck, dirtying his already filthy tunic.
“I did not tell him anything,” Madoc repeats, unbothered by the blood.
“You didn’t stop his advances when you knew he was coming. Lady Nore used a child to bring her the heart, which you knew about!”
Jude throws her next dagger, this time at Madoc’s uninjured leg. He shifts and the blade gets wedged between two bricks on the wall.
“And when he found you?” she shouts. “He journeyed for weeks to get to you . To get the objects to offer Lady Nore Beaten and rendered useless. And you couldn’t even fight to bring him back home with you? Do you know what he’s had to sacrifice to get you? When the public finds out about this betrayal, they’ll want to see blood! His own servants won’t be trusted because he’s helped a traitor. Did you not fucking think about that?”
Madoc waits for Jude to finish, but when she’s grabbing the knives hidden in her hair, he holds a hand up. “Jude, what Oak did was his own choice–”
“It was not! It was a ruse to get the court’s attention. To get my attention, but it got Oak’s instead because he cares for his worthless father more than his sisters.”
At this, he winces. “Yes, Lady Nore intended to get your sympathies. You were unmoving.”
Jude feels her chest crack, somewhere between her ribs. The anger boils inside of her and if she doesn’t do something about it, it’ll only grow and fester until the only thing that can soothe her is a fresh kill. Killing Madoc would be a pain, though, as he’s interacted with Oak too much.
“I understand your anger at me,” Madoc says, which is evidently the wrong thing to say because Jude throws a blade at his ear, slicing the same wound again. More blood falls. “But right now, your priority should be Oak. You cannot let your emotions blindside your rule. If Oak dies, you no longer have an heir. And clearly you are unlikely to produce your own, so presently, I’d advise…” he trails off, catching sight of Jude’s face. “Oh, Jude. My daughter, don’t look at me like that.”
She stands frozen now, hands void of any weapons. “My rule,” she echoes, deathly quiet. “You think I need to worry about the court right now.”
“It’s the price of securing the monarch seat for yourself.”
“Your son might die.”
“He knew the consequences. If the queen treats prisoners as Lady Nore does, expect him not to return the same person. He is not a child anymore.”
Blood rushes through Jude’s ears. Time slows. Her head pounds. Her fingers tremble something fierce. And then she does the only thing she can think of.
Jude walks to her father and swings, landing a crushing blow to the side of his face. Madoc, despite his mass, is weakened, and hurled to the left. A fantastic, satisfying bruise blooms on both Jude’s knuckles and Madoc’s face. He stays down, looking shocked as if getting physically pummeled by his own daughter is worse than being stabbed.
Jude flexes her fingers, feeling some of that rage dissipate. She stands back up, tall, wipes the blood from her knuckles, removes the daggers from around the cell, and then leaves.
“Let him rot,” she orders the guards.
***
Back in her chambers, Jude washes her bloodied knuckles with a rag and a basin full of cold water. That’s how Cardan finds her, muttering under her breath about her leniency towards traitors.
He stops her angrily washing with a long fingers hand to her wrist, prying her away from the basin. Instead of asking her what happened, he uses his other hand to raise her chin, narrowed eyes wandering over her face.
He tilts her head from side to side, up and down, perplexing Jude until she sighs and tries to shake him off. “He didn’t hit me.”
But Cardan’s fingers tighten. They spread across her cheeks, locking her in place despite the anger in her eyes. “Good. I will call someone to aid–”
“No need,” Jude says. “I have this handled. It’s only a bit of blood.”
The basin is scarlet red with the mixture of blood and water.
“They do not see you as weak. In fact, just coming here gave me several earfuls of servants radiating about your punch.” He says the last word slowly, smiling. “Very daring, wife.”
“I should have done more.”
“Yes, well,” Cardan says, dropping his hand around her face, wrestling the cloth out of her hands. “I’m glad you didn’t. Madoc’s anger is volatile and I’d rather him not take it out on his daughter.” He works silently, turning her hands over to get the self-inflicted marks on her palms. Then, he begins wiping her knuckles, and for some reason, it forces color onto her face.
His eyes catch the change. He runs a thumb over her cheek. “We’ve been married for 8 years and yet you still blush.”
Jude scowls, going to turn away, but he tightens his hold. “I hate you.”
“Liar,” he says softly.
She allows him to pull her back and continue cleaning her wound, thankful for his returned silence afterwards. He applies a salve over it, and then takes fresh cloth to wrap it.
“I know you’ll go against my word,” he says finally, pinning the cloth in place. “But you need to keep this on until the wound is healed. Ever since you told me about ‘infections’, I have worried about open injuries.”
Jude says, “Nobody here gets infections. All you Folk do is pack the injury with dirt and call it a day.”
“You say that as if we gather ordinary soil from any garden. And you also say that if we’ve not had to do that to you multiple times.”
“Whatever.”
“Ah, yes,” Cardan says with a teasing smile. “‘Whatever.’ My favorite argument.”
He pulls her closer and wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her to his chest. Jude closes her eyes and puts her head directly below his collar, close enough so that she can hear the gentle thudding of his heart – perhaps the only gentle thing about him.
One of his hands rests on the back of her head, near cradling her.
She grabs him back.
They hug for several long moments.
Then – “He said Oak is no longer a child so he shouldn’t be treated like one. But I went through something similar. I wanted to prove myself to my father, and that’s Oak’s goal as well.” Jude buries her face in the black feathers of his doublet. “I was a child too,” she says quietly.
Cardan rests his head on hers. “I know.”
“Oak will want me to forgive him.”
“Don’t.”
“I don’t want to anyways.”
“Oak didn’t consult your feelings before going on a rescue mission. Have you decided on what we should do about retrieving him?”
Jude raises her head to glance at him. His fingers curl around the back of her neck warmly. “Before I punched him, Madoc said that if Suren treats prisoners as Nore did, then we’ve got an issue on our hands.”
Cardan says, “But Oak was with her for weeks. She had his chance to kill him.”
She lays her head back down on his chest. “I’ll give him one week to send correspondence. If he doesn’t send word, I’m sending the army.”
“The whole army, Jude?”
“Every last fucking soldier.”
Of course to her own ears, this sounds like a terrible idea. The plan will change as the week goes on, but the anger in her body has taken over her brain. She flexes her hand to feel the pain in her knuckles again, hissing to herself at the sharp bite. Cardan soothes the ache with a kiss to her hair.
Just before they pull away from one another, Cardan makes a quip. It seems as if he’s been holding it in for some time, judging by how his eyes shine with mischief. If she didn’t marry him and if she didn’t know him inside and out, she would have thought that he seriously meant what he goes on to say. But because she spends every moment she can with him, she sees the truth of his words: they’re just an attempt to get her to smile.
Cardan’s hair falls into his eyes. “If the little queen decides to keep Oak for herself,” he says, grinning, “then we’ll have to start worrying about having a spare, won’t we?”
Jude rolls her eyes. These comments have been coming more often from her husband, and she sees the desire in his eyes. She’s not blind. She witnesses the way he looks at Taryn’s child, how he radiates at the sound of the laughter, how he bites his cheek thoughtfully while looking at the children running their parents wild at revels.
It would be easy for them to have children – easier than it is for the Folk. And because of this, she’s maintained a strict no inconsistencies attitude for birth control.
But Jude isn’t immune. She, too, feels the pull. Despite her violent nature, she, too, would like someone to nurture. To be raised far differently than how she and Cardan were raised. To raise a child to love Faerie rather than run from it.
So when Cardan kisses her, pressing her back against the counter, she can’t help but smile into the kiss, burying her fingers into his hair to give his curls a sharp tug.
“Funny,” she murmurs against his mouth. “But now’s not the time.”
“You’re right,” he replies, kissing her hungrily again. “But it’s something to think about.”